


we phantoms few

by nukasoda



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Doomed Relationship, Horror, Multi, Pre-Canon, goth boy summer, or how a group of naive and ambitious kids effectively ended the world
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:14:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27121643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nukasoda/pseuds/nukasoda
Summary: Love is as utterly incomprehensible as the gods themselves- he wonders, then, if that means it could be just as dangerous?A group of students at Byrgenwerth navigate the years as friends and lovers alike, unaware that they will one day be each other's ruin.
Relationships: Laurence/Ludwig (Bloodborne)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 19





	1. where the sun is mute

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for implied domestic abuse in the final section

In his first weeks at Byrgenwerth, Laurence feels less like a pilgrim taking refuge in this sanctuary of knowledge- more an unassuming vessel being tossed about in a great sea of unknowns. If people notice the new boy with the golden hair and the lost eyes, they don’t give any indication. It’s an interesting new world for him to explore, though it fills him with trepidation; he is a ghost watching the other students from both afar and close enough to reach out and touch. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t yearn for a simple _Hello, you must be Laurence_ , but by the fourth week he’s accepted his position as resident spirit. The daily routine of quiet note-taking, isolated meals, and uneventful nights becomes familiar and, in a way, comforting to him. All the same, when it is swept away just as quickly, he can’t find reason to complain.

“Hello, you must be Laurence.”

He lifts tired eyes from page to new face- _not_ new, he realizes- he’s seen her before, and often. Rom, he thinks she’s called- Skin dotted with freckles, gap-toothed but… Pretty, he supposes. Loud. A bit chatty. There’s no denying the boys at Byrgenwerth are taken by her- He’s seen how they watch her skip through the halls. She’s got a brother who could easily be mistaken for a twin if he weren’t in the more advanced classes. His name is Ludwig, and _he,_ Laurence remembers. 

“Hello,” Laurence greets her quietly. The professor drones on, and though Laurence figures it would be better for a new pupil such as he to keep his attention on him, the girl sitting in front of him seems to have no problem turning her back to the lecturer. 

“I’ve seen you around. You’re hard to miss.”

“I can’t imagine that being so.”

“Oh, believe me, you are _noticed_ ,” Rom says with a glance up and down his form that’s quick enough to miss- almost. “No matter. I’d say this lecture is becoming terribly uninspired. Would you care to join me in the courtyard?”

Laurence gives his best polite half-smile, pointing his pen towards the teacher who’s adopted an obvious glare towards the two of them. All the while, he’s moved on to medicinal ratios; it’s no lesson in godly transcendence, but important to their studies nonetheless, and Laurence almost wishes he could listen. 

“Gods,” Rom sighs. “Just what we need. Another pompous fool who’s no interest in actually _enjoying_ his time here.” She shifts a bit in her seat, twists to a more comfortable position. “You can always borrow the notes later on for study. I’ve got them here.” She reaches back to grab a leather bound journal, stuffed to its limits, and presents it to him. 

“You already have them?”

“Why, of course. I copied them from the last pompous fool.” With that, she gives him a wink, and Laurence can’t help but smile.

* * *

Students dot the courtyard like flowers, some studying, most chatting or relaxing, picking at the weeds. Rom leads him to the center, cape fluttering behind. She falls, giggling, into the lap of another girl - Yurie, if he recalls correctly- who playfully shoves her away. 

“Off, you great lug!” she cries. “You’re heavier than you look.” Rom scoffs in feigned shock, smacking the back of her hand on Yurie’s shoulder. 

As the two girls continue their faux fighting, a figure lying only a few feet away rises to his elbows with a yawn. He wipes a knuckle across his eye, smearing away encroaching sleep. When Laurence sees his face, his heart skips a beat. Ludwig- the great hunter-in-training, the best of Byrgenwerth, an idol to many of the junior students. Laurence suddenly feels alone, and a quick look around the courtyard confirms that he’s the only one left standing. 

Rom takes notice of his predicament and waves him over. “Sit down, Laurence. The grass may leave stains on your trousers, but it surely won’t _kill_ you.” He tries to regain his composure and awkwardly lowers himself to their level. He’s unsure of what to do with his legs- crossed, uncrossed? He glances over to Ludwig to mimic his position, but freezes when he sees Ludwig’s eyes are already upon him, too, a knowing smirk on his face. Laurence catches his breath, manages to tear his eyes away before he embarrasses himself further, and settles on crossed.

“Laurence, is it?” Yurie asks. “You’re new, yes? And already skipping class…” She clicks her tongue, gives a disapproving shake of her head. The fear on Laurence’s face at being perceived as anything less than a model student must be apparent, because in only a moment she laughs, dismissing the thought with a wave of her hand. “Relax, you. I’m only joking.” 

“Ah, skipping a lecture or two never harmed a soul,” Ludwig adds. His voice is deep, strong, just as Laurence imagined. Ludwig furrows his brow at him, letting his words turn to ice. “Just don’t make it a habit.” He finishes the sentence with a wink and a smile, the artificial threat melting away. The gesture cuts deeper into Laurence than he’d like to admit.

He swallows down hard, reaches into his psyche for some semblance of self-control. “I’ll try my best,” he says, and, thank the gods, the words don’t come out nearly as strained as he fears. 

Ludwig laughs, a most warm and wonderful sound, and raises his fists in the air. “By the blood, he _does_ speak!” 

“Oh, leave him be,” Rom says. She’s turned her back to Yurie, who’s gone on to meticulously braid Rom's very long and very dark hair, eyes squinting in laser-focus. 

Laurence rolls his shoulders, letting himself relax a bit; compared to all the horrid creatures beyond the gates of Byrgenwerth, a few more popular, worldly students could hardly be a threat. “It’s all right,” he says, and means it. “And Ludwig is correct, I really shouldn’t be skipping again-”

“You know me?” Ludwig interrupts, his eyes sharp.

“Well, I’ve… I’ve seen you around,” Laurence stammers. “And, of course, the underclassmen speak of you highly-”

The grin on Ludwig’s face grows wider and wider by the second.

“And you, of course, know this,” Laurence sighs, shaking his head.

“You’re far too easy to mess with, Laurence.” Ludwig sits completely upright and takes a moment to stretch his neck, first to the left, then the right. “Give it time. We’ll make a true Byrgenwerth scholar of you yet.”

“I look forward to seeing that,” Rom laughs. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Laurence says. “I’ve not even memorized all of the great ones. Far too many names.”

Yurie takes a final moment to tie Rom’s hair and nods in agreement. “Indeed. Though I wouldn’t be saying that around Willem.”

“ _Provost_ Willem,” Ludwig corrects her. “Or Master Willem, if you’d like to really like to butter him up. He’s very touchy on that sort of thing.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Laurence says just as a bell tolls in the distance. The air seems to shift as students across the courtyard stand and stretch, ready to move on to what the day has in store next for them. Yurie is shouting at Rom for releasing her hair from the braid - _I worked hard on that, you know!_ \- _Yes, but it’s very tight and I’d prefer to keep my scalp, thank you very much._ \- but Laurence hardly pays attention. Ludwig approaches him to place a hand on his shoulder, much gentler than Laurence expects. 

“It’s all in jest, Laurence,” he assures him. “It was nice to finally meet you.”

Laurence can only nod and watch as he turns away, leaving him to his racing thoughts. The word sticks out like a beacon, louder than any warning bell- _Finally_. Nice to _finally_ meet you. 

He almost doesn’t hear Rom wish him a good day as she and Yurie also depart. “Meet us again tomorrow, will you, Laurence? Between classes this time, if it pleases you.”

“Of course,” he agrees, not really hearing the words leave his mouth. He’s the last one to exit the courtyard, and though he knows he’ll likely be late for his next class, the thought does nothing to crush his blossoming smile.

 _Finally_.

When Laurence goes to sleep that night, he enters the dream with a smile on his face, his thoughts turning to the boy with his hair splayed across the grass.

* * *

_Laurence glares up at his stepfather through lashes heavy and wet. He looks a snivelling mess, he knows, tears and blood dripping on to his upper lip. He should stand, puff his chest, be a man. When he does, the old bastard only laughs in his face._

_“Make no mistake, Laurence,” he spits. “You are_ nothing _. You are_ nobody.” 

_Despite the blooming mark on her cheek, despite everything that had happened that night, his mother still reacts exactly as he suspects she would. Words that should have been meant for his stepfather are shot at him instead, every syllable a bullet in his gut. “I want you to pack your things. You need to be on your way by morn.”_

_“I should have expected you’d take his side.”_

_“I mean it, Laurence.”_

_He looks down at his abused knuckles and laughs at the absurdity of the situation. It’s a great surprise he isn’t attacked again for this- not that he’d mind another excuse to punch back, really. He’d never been a good fighter growing up, but as evidenced by his stepfather’s split lip, he could confidently say he could hold his own now._

_“You’re so very predictable, you know,” the older man sneers through a broken grin. “Always messing about in things that are so far above you, you couldn’t hope to understand.” Even at eye level, he manages to look down at Laurence, like he has for years, like he always has. “Yes, Byrgenwerth_ would _suit you, wouldn’t it?”_

 _Laurence packs only a few things, well-worn clothes and tightly-bundled stationery, leaving anything that once may have had sentimental value behind. Outside, rain falls heavy and icy cold, drenching him within minutes. It washes away the blood, but he wishes it would cleanse him of so much more- memories, mostly, even the happiest of them, before it all fell apart._ Especially _the happiest ones. He looks back, foolishly hoping to catch a last glimpse of his mother, wishing nothing more than for her to see him hopelessly standing there in the rain and change her mind, send_ him _packing instead. He is met only by closed blinds and muffled candlelight that seems miles away._

_When he leaves that night for Byrgenwerth, when he is_ finally _gone, he is gone forever._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, I am on Tumblr
> 
> http://gascoignes.tumblr.com
> 
> http://twitter.com/itsmadge_


	2. something wicked this way comes

Every once in a while, Laurence notices a sadness in Rom. It’s not often, and it’s not always obvious. Mostly, it comes in the form of a dreamy, faraway gaze at the empty spaces between her and all else that exists, a look that is quickly buried and forgotten when distraction arises. She’s the type of girl to fall a little bit in love with everyone she meets, he realizes, a whirlwind of romance that belongs to no one but her.

There’s no shortage of suitors, and she knows it. There may not be a stream of bouquets at her feet, but there are other little constants- winks and flirtatious compliments and poorly-conceived poetry passed from hand to hand in the lecture halls. The boys earn smiles in reward, maybe even quick pecks upon the cheek, but nothing more.

When Laurence questions her about the topic in the library one morning, she laughs like he’s asked something entirely ridiculous.

“Are you interested, then?”

“I-”

“Of course you’re not.” She sighs dramatically, falls back into her seat as though she’s received a most cold rejection. “Laurence, I don’t just want to be loved- I want to be loved deeply. I want my heart to be eaten from my hands. Does that make sense?”

“No.”

She continues anyway. “I want to be completely consumed by it. Do you think those sweet boys passing poems could stomach me? Would they _want_ to?” Another student shushes them and Rom strikes at him a glare that could cut through glass.

“I suppose I don’t know enough about our fellow students to make that judgement,” Laurence responds, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Perhaps you don’t either.”

“Perhaps,” she muses, and deflects. “What about you, oh handsome Laurence? You’ve certainly got options.”

He smiles, turns a page of his book and smoothes it to the spine. “I’ve only been here but a month, Rom.”

“So no one’s caught your eye?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No.” She grins knowingly. “You certainly didn’t.”

* * *

She has a deep fondness for the architecture of Byrgenwerth; the long, endless hallways with their arched ceilings aren’t just tunnels from point A to point B- they’re opportunities. Opportunities for enlightening conversations between scholars, for stolen, hungry kisses behind the pillars, and, best of all, for Rom’s favorite part of her day.

She finds a suitable spot, one hardly congested by the travel of her fellow students, and places her books upon the window sill there. She shuffles through them until she finds her prize: a dark crimson-bound copy of _The Abridged History of Dance_. Flipping it open to her intended page, she props it against the fogged glass, using the weight of another to keep it split open.

She takes a minute to study the forms of the silhouettes, positioning her limbs to imitate the nameless women of ink. She lifts one foot, twirls upon the other, drops it down... and smiles. The dance has begun.

It’s become a near-daily ritual, this silent waltz of hers. She likes to think there’s a sort of magic to it, spinning upon the earth, drawing music from the world around her- finding rhythm in the passing footsteps, melodies in the singing of the wind just beyond the walls. Students walk by, hardly paying any mind. There are stranger things to be seen at Byrgenwerth than a lonely girl doing pirouettes, after all. She’s sure some of them find her too whimsical, too daft to walk these hallowed halls. Her heart is just too full to care.

That is why when she bumps into the figure behind her without warning, her first instinct is not to gasp or shriek, but to be sent into a fit of giggles.

“Gods, I’m sorry!” she cries, her hand flying over her mouth to suppress her laughter. “I swear it, I do, sometimes I think I have two left f-”

When she turns to face the one she’s stumbled upon, she finds her words seized from her throat. Her eyes are level with its broad chest, clad in a heavy and torn black coat. She wills herself to look up, even though she knows what she’ll find, and sees staring upon her two bottomless black pits in stark-white sockets, thin lips pursed in an unfeeling expression.

She collapses backwards then, hardly feeling the smack of her palms upon the ground as she desperately tries to cushion her fall. The pale creature reacts not, only continues to stare down at her, giving no indication of what its thoughts or intentions are towards the girl on the floor.

“I’m s-sorry,” she stutters again, voice struggling to crawl above a whisper. She wants to pull her gaze away, look for another student in the hall to call over, to have some sort of shield against it. It is of no use. She is frozen in her spot, and even after it silently departs, the clack of its cane against the solid ground growing further away, she is unable to move. Her chest heaves as she involuntarily draws in breaths far too quickly. She can feel her heartbeat in her throat, loud and violent, as if it’s trying to escape from her chest. She wishes it could.

She doesn’t recall how she makes it behind the column, knees huddled to her chest and face buried between them, but somehow, she gets there. It isn’t until she feels two hands gently shake her shoulders that she dares to look up. A great wave of relief washes over her as she finds Yurie there.

“Rom.” Her voice is soft. “Are you all right?” Rom shakes her head, and before she can stop herself, the tears fall, the strength to hold them back now absent.

“Oh, sweet girl,” Yurie sighs, pulling her close. “Come now. Let’s get you back to the dormitories.” Rom nods, gives her nose a hasty wipe with her sleeve, and shakily stands with Yurie’s assistance. She keeps her arm around her as they set off, leaving the book and the day’s dance and the ink-women to be found again at better times.

* * *

“Damned Pthumerians. It used to be you never saw them during the day. They’re supposed to be the _night_ watchmen- and I’d always assumed the sun would set their skin alight!” Yurie sits on the edge of Rom’s bed, warm cloth in hand, and places it over her friend’s forehead. She shakes her head. “Scaring you like that- and I’m sure you’re not the only one. I ought to march up to Willem’s office and tell him what I really think.”

Rom pinches the bridge of her nose between her thumb and index finger. Her brain feels as though it’s been squeezed in a vice, eyes still puffy and red from her bouts of crying. “Oh, please don’t. I’ve suffered enough humiliation for the day.” She thinks for a moment, wonders if she truly wants to know the answer to her next question. She asks it anyway. “How many people do you suppose saw me in that state?”

“Well, Edgar was the one who rushed over to tell me,” Yurie explains. She leans back against the wall. “But- from what I understand, at least- he was told by Caryll. Who I believe was told by Damian who…”

Rom throws herself back into her hefty stack of pillows, dragging the covers over her head with a loud groan. “I could die right now. Honestly, I could.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it. They’ll find something new to gossip about before the day is done.” Yurie takes a deep breath. “You know, Rom, frightening as they may be, they won’t hurt you.”

“Who? Edgar and Damian and Caryll?” She pulls the covers back down below her chin, still gripping them tight.

“ _Hah, hah._ ” Yurie rolls her eyes. “Really, though. I don’t think they’re capable of harming any of us.”

“Don’t tell me you _truly_ believe that,” Rom snaps. “Any day now, they could decide to hurt us if they wanted to. And it’s not as if they wouldn’t have just cause to do so.”

Yurie squints at her. “What are you insinuating? Master Willem says they volunteered to serve Byrgenwerth.”

“He says plenty. That doesn’t make it so.” She hauls herself upright and winces, now fully aware from tailbone to upper back how hard of a tumble she took. The damp cloth on her forehead stays stuck to her skin for a moment before peeling off and dropping unceremoniously to the bed. “How would he know, anyhow? They don’t even _speak_ to us!”

“Rom, just please take my word for it- don’t you fret about those hulking creatures. You’ll be safe so long as I am here.”

“Oh, really?” She laughs. “And what will you do? Sass them back to Pthumeru?”

“I’d find a way,” Yurie says. Joke as they do, her words drip with sincerity. “I always will, you know. Find a way. To protect you, I mean. That I can promise.”

Rom tilts her head, gives her friend a quizzical smirk. “And you suppose I need protecting? Did you not just say the Pthumerians are harmless?”

“Oh, Rom. Look at where we are. There are dangers around every corner. _Everyone_ here needs protecting.” Yurie stands up and adjusts her uniform. She spots the fallen cloth on the quilt and retrieves it, placing it back on Rom’s head before gently encouraging her to lie back down. “Now, _I_ am going to go back to class-” She scoops her books up from the coffee table. “-and _you_ are going to get some rest, dearest Rom.”

“At least I have an excuse this time,” Rom grumbles, closing her eyes.

“I’ll lock the door behind me,” Yurie promises. She prepares to exit the room, but before closing the door she has an idea, bright as can be, and hurries back to Rom’s bedside. She leans down to place a quick kiss upon her hair. Rom doesn’t open her eyes, just smiles warmly, and tries to think happy thoughts as Yurie leaves, door clicking shut behind her.

* * *

Days pass like falling sand and the memory of the nightmarish day all but disappears, along with the whispers of what had occurred. Soon, Rom is able to stop looking over her shoulder and life goes on as normal as it can be at Byrgenwerth. Sun-kissed courtyard gatherings between friends resume.

“Where’s Yurie?” Ludwig asks. He leans against a withered tree, finding refuge in the shade there.

Rom takes a bite of her sandwich- chestnuts and butter between two thin slices of bread- and savors the taste, swallowing it down before answering his question. “She was up all hours of the night studying for her morning exam. I imagine she’s catching up on her sleep.”

“I see.”

It’s a quiet day, unexciting. Birds above chirp their cheery songs and the sky is so blue it’s nearly blinding. The only inconsistency of note is that it’s nicer outside than it has been in weeks. On most days, the weather around Byrgenwerth is about as clear as its subject matter. It’s a cliche often joked about at the college- the looming school of the arcane being swallowed whole by the snake-ridden forests, blanketed by dark, cloudy skies.

“I’ve considered taking a walk after class today- maybe visiting the lake,” Rom explains. Neither of the boys respond, so she prods further. “I was hoping someone might care to accompany me.”

“I have sparring practice this afternoon.”

Rom huffs, turns to Laurence. “Laurence?”

“I also have… sparring… practice?”

There’s something about the image of Laurence, the boy who can barely hold a _quill_ trying his hand at swordplay that throws Ludwig into a fit of laughter. He laughs so hard, in fact, that the back of his head soon thumps against the thick bark of the tree. It only spurs him further- by the time he catches Rom scowling at him, he’s nearly doubled over.

“Gods, it wasn’t that funny,” Laurence mutters under his breath.

“Oh, but it was, Laurence.” Ludwig takes a moment to catch his breath. He places a hand over his own chest and sighs. “It really…”

“Really _what_?” Laurence asks, noting that Ludwig’s smile has abruptly faded.

“Do not turn around, Rom,” Ludwig orders. There’s no longer any hint of joy in his voice. He seems to stare straight through the space above Rom’s head.

“Why?” She looks to Laurence for answers, but sees that he, too, is looking past her, eyes blown wide.

“Just _don’t_.”

Rom doesn’t know upon which Earth Ludwig is living on that she’ll ever follow an order from him, but it’s certainly not the one they’re on now. So she turns, and immediately runs cold. It’s as if every muscle in her body suddenly tenses at once, turning a girl of flesh and blood to stone in a matter of seconds.

The Pthumerian marches through the courtyard at an agonizingly slow pace. Students all around watch, their friendly chats with each other dissolving into hushed whispers as their eyes follow its massive form.

“It’s the one from the hallway, Ludwig,” Rom breathes, horrified at the sight before her.

“You’re certain?”

It takes her several moments to realize her brother has crossed the gap between them, has taken her smaller hands into his own. “Rom.” He has to hold her chin, physically force her face to look back at him. The tears have already begun to well, leaving her eyes glassy and wet.

“It’s coming towards us.”

“It’s not.” He grips her hands again, squeezes them tightly but not enough for there to be any pain. “Do you remember when we were young, and mother made me try out for that _ridiculous_ play? And, by the gods, what do you know? They chose me.” He looks to Laurence, their silent observer, and smiles sadly. “And that night at the theater when we were to perform I was _so_ nervous. Tell me you remember.”

 _I can’t_ , she mouths.

“You can. Listen- Gods, my big scene arrived and I went out on stage, all eyes on me, and I froze, forgot my lines. And instead of trying to put together something, _anything_ to say- Damn it, _breathe,_ Rom- I just ran off the stage. And, of course my shoes were untied, so I…”

He stops his fruitless attempt at comfort. The Pthumerian towers over the sitting Rom, a pale juggernaut that blocks the sun, leaves the two siblings shrouded by shadow. It reaches an impossibly long hand into its coat pocket to retrieve a wax-stamped letter from its depths. It holds the folded paper out, staring mute at the still-turned Rom in waiting expectation.

Ludwig grabs it from its hand, not allowing Rom the terror of having to take it herself, and the Pthumerian turns from whence it came, taking just as long to depart.

Ludwig turns the paper in his hand, not sure of how to proceed- Rom’s all but hyperventilating, composure having left the building several moments ago. Her half-eaten sandwich has fallen from her hands and now sits in the grass, a large black mass of ants gathered to slowly consume it. “It has… Master Willem’s seal. Would… you like me to open it?”

“No.” She pulls her arms around herself, aiming to still the incessant shudders that wrack her body.

“Shall I give it to you then?”

Rom finally looks up, first to Ludwig, then to Laurence. “Are you not _terrified_ of those things?” she asks, her tone unsteady and accusing.

Laurence gives a hesitant shrug. “Well, I’ve… studied the Pthumerians before and-”

“Oh, _piss off_!” she cries, shooting up and snatching the letter from Ludwig.

“I can walk you back, Rom,” he offers.

“I can walk myself.” Rom turns her heel, though still crying and shaking, and stomps from the courtyard. The wordless gazes of the other students do nothing to console her as she re-enters the dormitory building, pace ramping to a frantic sprint home.

* * *

Rom has to wade through the words several times over for the full weight of the letter to settle upon her shoulders. She’s sure hours must have passed since the incident in the courtyard, all of them spent reading and re-reading the awful news spelled out before her. The Pthumerian seems such a small threat now; somewhere buried deep in the back of her conscience she knows she should apologize to Laurence and Ludwig- her irrational fears were not their fault, of course, and lashing out at them accomplished nothing. She realizes, though, that with the gravity of what she’s just read, the apology will simply have to wait.

Across the room, the outline of Yurie’s body rises and falls, soundly asleep and unaware of Rom’s presence.

She knows that if she were to weep over the letter, she would surely wake her. Without a second thought she’d come to comfort her, let her sob into her shoulder until daylight knocked at their door. _No,_ she scolds herself. _You’ve been quite selfish enough, Rom._

So she folds the salt-stained parchment in thirds and tucks it away, a misfortune to be pondered alone.

Try as it may, sleep does not come to her that moonlit night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, I am on Tumblr
> 
> http://gascoignes.tumblr.com
> 
> http://twitter.com/itsmadge_


	3. the beginning of always

Ludwig is a force on the training yard, nearly every hit landing, every countermove blocked. His movements are both brutal and graceful, merciless and clean. It doesn’t take long for the trainer Gehrman to find his work satisfactory, and he whistles, signaling for the attacks to cease.

Laurence looks around. It’s not unusual for a crowd to watch the men practice, as Ludwig has previously boasted to him, but a blush burns in his cheeks when he realizes that, out of all of the spectators, he is the only male.

“Wonderful work!” Gehrman praises Ludwig, and his trainee smiles, bowing over and placing his hands on his knees as he catches his breath. A moment later and he rises, good as new.

He looks a bit of a mess- a handsome one, at that, but a mess all the same. Hair undone from its tie lies pasted to his forehead and cheekbones with sweat. Likewise, the strings of his shirt have also come loose, leaving his chest partially bare. Despite the small mass of female onlookers gathered only moments away, it is not them, but Laurence that Ludwig chooses to approach after his training is complete. When he realizes he is Ludwig’s chosen destination, Laurence grabs one of his books, quickly placing it over his lap and flipping open to a random page.

“Studying medicine, I see,” Ludwig notes, gesturing towards him. “We’ve not talked about it much. You’re to be a healer, I assume.”

Laurence nods. “That seems to be the path I’m destined to walk, yes.” He looks over the diagrams of the human body that stand inked before him. “I find anatomy and its workings to be… fascinating, I suppose. As if we’re all just intricate machines.”

“And that’s why you’ve come to watch me spar?” Ludwig laughs. “Because of a _fascination_ with anatomy?”

_Collect yourself, Laurence._

“No, actually.” Laurence clears his throat. “I’ve come because I was hoping to watch you get knocked on your arse.”

Ludwig chuckles and takes a seat next to him. “Then I’m sorry to disappoint. Perhaps another day.” He motions to Gehrman, the former student hauling the practice dummies back in their place. “Gods know it’ll happen again. Old bastard can hit like a bag of bricks sometimes.”

“Old?” Laurence scoffs. “He’s only just finished his training, Ludwig.”

“Older than me. Consider it an inside joke between the two of us.” Ludwig shrugs. “He keeps me on my toes. I need to be in the best shape I can when it comes time to really hunt.”

“So that’s _your_ path, then,” Laurence says. “To ‘cut through the tombs’, as they say. Traverse the labyrinths.”

“Oh, I won’t be allowed down there for a long while, but yes, I suppose it is.” Ludwig leans forwards, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin in his palms. “The scholars need Hunters to make it safe for them. Good Hunters. That’s the only reason I’m here, you know. Rom too.” He winces at the bluntness of his own words. “Don’t… tell her I said that, please.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Laurence assures him.

“Good.” Ludwig takes another sharp intake of breath, lets his eyelids drop as he leans back. “ _Good_. She needn’t worry about any of that. She’s a bright girl, you know- She’s just…”

“Easily distracted, as she explains it.”

“Precisely,” Ludwig agrees with a snap and a point of his fingers. “Regardless, when you’re dragging yourself from the mud, you must insure your arms are strong enough to pull your weight. That is how it is and how it must always be.”

“And what sort of mud have you pulled yourself from?”

Ludwig sighs, seems to contemplate his inquiry with a smile so bittersweet it wrenches at Laurence’s heart. Ultimately, to the younger student’s dismay, he decides against sharing. “Another time, perhaps, my friend.”

“Of course.”

Ludwig hops back to his feet. “I should find my way to class.” The expression on his face changes, melancholy sliding away to once more reveal that signature charming smirk of his. “And you know, Laurence…” He leans in close. “You aren’t as subtle as you think you are.”

Laurence pushes the book on his lap down hard. “What do you mean?”

Ludwig laughs and smacks his hand on Laurence’s shoulder. “Nothing. Nothing at all.” He lingers there momentarily before stepping back, and Laurence hopes the shudder that crawls down his spine isn’t detected. “Oh, I’d nearly forgotten- you should come to the girl’s dorms tonight.”

“And… _why_ exactly would I do that?”

“I thought you might want to come and have a few drinks with Yurie and my sister and I.” He bounces on the balls of his feet. “Unless, of course, you’d like to spend the night by yourself, contemplating how we’re all… what was it, _intricate machinery_?”

“All right, all right,” Laurence agrees. “I suppose I can make that happen.”

“Good man!” Ludwig throws his cape over his shoulder, blows a strand of dark hair out of his eyes. “I will see you tonight, then.”

Laurence watches as he walks away, his eyes following until he crosses through a doorway, disappearing from sight. He sighs, shifts the book in his lap, feeling much too uncomfortable and exposed to stand just yet.

Class will simply have to wait a few more minutes.

* * *

The evening bell tolls, echoing through the halls of Byrgenwerth, signaling the end of the day’s studies. Volunteer students race from candelabra to candelabra, carefully granting light upon the school’s dimming passages. Only the pale glow of the moon remains, the sun having already slipped away for its nightly rest.

In the lecture hall, Micolash gathers his belongings from below his seat. One of his juniors is droning on about how exciting and revolutionary his theory on Loran is- hollow flattery, of course- Micolash knows him to be a pupil from one of the classes he assists in grading papers for.

In the end, he’s forced to cut him off- he thinks to tell the boy he’s laying it on far too thick, but resists the urge. “I should get some rest,” he says, and departs before he has to hear another word.

Outside of the classroom, Micolash turns a corner and finds a young woman sitting upon the stairwell, toes tapping on the ground expectantly. She glances up at him, and away, takes great care to exhale as loudly as possible, and he recognizes it as a rather obvious ploy to get his attention.

He’s had dealings with her in the past, of course- it is difficult to to get through Byrgenwerth without seeing her cavorting around in the halls or asking a question that is more ridiculous and far-fetched than even _he_ can endure.

“Is there something wrong, Rom?” he asks, and internally reprimands himself for choosing to get involved.

“Oh, hello,” she says, pretending as though she’s only just noticed his presence. “Don’t concern yourself with me. It’s just that I’ve received this letter.” Sure enough, she holds a folded piece of parchment in her hands, all the while anxiously fidgeting with it, folding it open and closed again and again. “It’s nothing, really…”

He wants to roll his eyes at her, make it clear he’s no time for her nonsense, but when she looks up to him, the desperation in her eyes unmistakably genuine, he stops himself. He reaches out his hand, motioning for her to turn over the letter to him, and she does- a brief look over the page, signed by Master Willem himself, and he realizes just why she’s so downcast.

“You’re being expelled.”

Rom speaks excitedly. “If they send me away, Ludwig will not stay. I just know he’ll leave. Byrgenwerth will lose one of its most valuable Hunters. Willem must know that, he _must_ , Micolash.” He knows the words spilling over are for her, to convince herself of the siblings’ worth, not him.

“Ludwig isn’t a Hunter yet.”

“Well, he’s- There’s still- That hardly means anything!”

“It means plenty,” he says plainly, handing the letter back to her. She stands up with a huff.

“I have a chance. I can improve. But-” She swears under her breath. “They’ve confiscated my notes.”

“The ones you stole, you mean.”

“You _gave_ them to me!”

“To _study_ ,” he seethes through gritted teeth. “I’d no clue you intended on keeping them.”

She begins to protest but promptly goes silent, giving a small, defeated nod. “Still... you helped.” With a sigh, she peers down at her feet, pigeon-toed, her body rocking back and forth on her heels. “You’ll help me again, won’t you?”

He shakes his head, incredulous- _Stupid, silly girl_. He’s well aware of the vast importance of Byrgenwerth, what a blessing it is to be a part of it in any capacity; they’re surrounded by paths of great arcane knowledge many would sacrifice _everything_ to walk upon. To have spat in its face so blatantly and with such gross disregard is nothing more than a childish insult, deserving of a fitting punishment. “I’ve my own work, and plenty of it. Find someone else.” When he turns to leave, she grabs his wrist, a feeble attempt at keeping him in place. “Let go, please.”

“I’m not dull, you know,” she insists, her voice regaining its stubborn strength. “I’m here because I want to learn, I _swear_ I do!” A group of students walk past them, too preoccupied with their own conversation to take notice, and she releases him, softening her tone. “Focus does not come easily to me, that’s all. Please.”

Every bit of sense in his brain screams at him to turn his attention away, go back to his day as normal and forget about this little vexation, but the pride of being considered knowledgeable enough to be sought out as a tutor- as well as, _damn it all_ , the innocent, hopeful gaze upon him- eventually overrule his feelings. “Fine,” he says, and Rom gives a great sigh of relief. “But I expect you to take this seriously. This is no charity.”

“Yes,” she agrees, clasping her hands together as if to thank the gods she’s found a way out of her mess. “Yes, of course!”

“I’ll see you in the library tomorrow evening, after classes have finished. Excuse me.” He promptly turns and strides away, hoping dearly he won’t regret it.

* * *

Outside, the nights at Byrgenwerth are cloaked in an eerie and foreboding silence. No more are the gossiping courtyard whispers of students and professors alike. The only sound worth noting is that of the clicking clock tower, lulling many, but not all of the scholars asleep.

Laurence is one of those who remain awake, and he finds as he enters the girl’s dormitories that many who reside there are, as well- clusters of young women congregate in the hallways, chatting, some about school, some about personal matters. A few of them exchange glances with Laurence and he does his best to smile back politely, to acknowledge them with a wave and a nod. He does not, however, stay and talk.

He counts the room numbers, locates the one he’s looking for and knocks. Laughter and conversation beckon him from just beyond- Ludwig’s stands out to him, clear as a bell. It is Yurie, though, who answers the door.

“ _Laurence_!” she cries, and throws her arms around him. It is unexpected- of the three of his courtyard companions, Yurie is the one he’s had the fewest interactions with. The odor on her breath quickly explains the awkwardness away. After several uncomfortable moments, she pulls away and motions for him to enter the dorm. “Come in, come in!”

The room, belonging to Yurie and Rom, is close to what Laurence had expected- cluttered but not _messy_ , per se, stacks of books and papers sitting around as if they were placed there for aesthetic value. Rom lounges on one of the beds, caught in a heated discussion with her brother over whether or not the school uniforms are, in fact, hideous. Ludwig himself sits in a chair he must have brought from elsewhere, though _sits_ is a generous term- his posture is atrocious, Laurence thinks, amused, his head lolled over the back of the chair, legs spread as wide as humanly possible.

Without bothering to ask, Yurie hands Laurence a cup and pours in an amber liquid from an unmarked bottle. Laurence sniffs the rim of the glass and almost immediately his sinuses begin to burn something awful. “Gods, what is this stuff?”

“Ah, the old Byrgenwerth special,” Rom explains. “Drink it swiftly; it’s not something worth savoring.” Hesitantly, Laurence obliges, throwing his head back and letting the foul liquid run into his throat. He coughs, vision slightly fading behind a glassy wall of newborn tears, the shapes of his friends going fuzzy for a split second. Already, he can feel his head lightening, his thoughts fogging over.

“Do I want to know what’s in this?” he asks, breathless.

“Probably not.”

He decides not to pursue the issue any further.

They idly converse for a while, speaking of many topics, none of them relevant to their studies, of course- for nearly an hour Yurie rants about how she’s _positively certain_ she saw Professor Bram leave a broom closet with Caryll following shortly after.

Maybe it’s the alcohol, or the camaraderie, but Laurence finds that Rom’s demeanor has greatly improved throughout the day. Her usual playful delight, absent from their shared classes that morning, has returned with force, gap-tooth grin in full display. “You seem to be in a better mood, Rom,” he notes aloud.

“Ah.” She raises her glass. “Drinking spirits does tend to lift them. Now-” She sets the cup aside and in turn retrieves a nearby book. “Tonight’s entertainment,” she says, chuckling, passing the leather-bound tome to Yurie. “It’s a romance novel.”

Yurie eagerly thumbs through its many pages; when she lands on one, her eyes go wide. “Oh, this is no love story.” She nearly chokes on her words. “This is positively _vulgar_.”

“I found it in the library,” Rom says. She reaches over to take another swig and grimaces. “One of our professors or peers must have thought it worth archiving.”

“ _‘He spread the petals of her flower to lap at her sweet dew’_ \- Gods!” Yurie puts a hand up as if to shield her eyes, though despite the gesture, her gaze stays glued to the page- possibly out of sheer shock.

“Petals!” Ludwig cries. His chest heaves in spasmodic, breathy laughter. “Her _flower_!”

“Calm yourself, Ludwig,” Laurence warns him. “You’re likely to burst a vessel in this state.” Though he means to joke, the words come out more serious than intended.

“It’s a shame we can’t see the register,” Rom sighs. She leans to pry the book from Yurie’s grasp and takes a good look herself. “I’d have liked to know who’s blessed us with this fine material.”

Ludwig lets out a final wheeze, dragging his palms over his face to wipe away the tears that have collected on his cheeks. Energy sapped, he melts into the chair, his inhales and exhales slowing back down to a somewhat steady pace. “My bets are on Willem.”

“ _Willem_?” Yurie asks, appalled at the very thought. “Tell me we don’t speak of the same man.”

“Whatever do you mean? You don’t suppose our respectable headmaster still polishes his sword?”

“On second thought,” Laurence groans. “I might want another drink, after all.”

Rom flips through the pages of the book, her furrowed expression that of a girl on a most important mission. “Now,” she states. “Let’s see if we can find any more juicy bits to review.”

“Haven’t we heard enough about the lady’s juicy bits?”

“Quiet, Ludwig.”

Rom skims over words, finger following the inked words with the quiet hiss of skin against paper. “Ah, now here we are.” She clears her throat, reading aloud in dramatic fashion: “ _‘Obediently, she lay over his lap, her mound quivering in expectation. His hand came down upon her arse with a loud smack’_.”

This, inevitably, sends Ludwig into another bout of violent giggles.

“ _Quivering_!”

Laurence refills his glass.

“By the blood,” Yurie groans. “That just seems so… degenerate.”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Rom shrugs. She feigns bashfulness, though the look on her face is one of pure amusement.

“Ugh. Don’t tell me.”

“Love is pain, Yurie. And pain is inevitable.” Rom winks at her. “You may as well learn to love the sting.”

“Stop. Stop there,” Ludwig commands, his laughter reduced to sporadic hiccups. “I don’t need to hear _any_ more.” He places a hand over his forehead. “I feel rather woozy.”

“Agreed,” Yurie says.

“No, no. I mean it…” Ludwig goes to stand and stumbles, his knees buckling beneath him. Even with his buzzing mind growing hazier by the second, Laurence is quick to come to his aid, throwing one of Ludwig’s heavy arms over his shoulders and helping him to regain his balance.

“All right, great Hunter of Byrgenwerth…” he starts, embarrassed by the slur of his own words. “Let us rest for the night, shall we?” Ludwig nods slowly. He struggles to keep his eyes open and his chin upwards. Laurence guides him back to the chair in which he previously sat; meanwhile, Ludwig grumbles something unintelligible. Grabbing his senior’s cloak, Laurence carefully places it over him, gently tucking it beneath his limbs. In his half-drunken state, he doesn’t think of the implications of his actions, of Yurie and Rom witnessing them. Fortunately, they do not seem to care.

Rom yawns and stretches her arms towards the ceiling. “Laurence, you may take my bed tonight if you wish,” she offers.

“ _What_?”

“To sleep in, you pervert,” she scolds. “I am certain Yurie and I can fit in one bed.”

“Are you _entirely_ sure about that?” Yurie teases her, earning her a smack across the arm.

Laurence obeys, having more trouble than he expects crossing the room- the thought occurs to him that a tall glass of water should likely be in order, but by the time he’s reached the bed, he’s too exhausted to follow through with his own recommendation. He removes his vest and tie, folding them as neatly as he can with his fairly impaired motor skills, and sets them on the nightstand. Across from him, Rom and Yurie fight over which side of the bed to claim as their own- he scarcely registers this. As soon as his head hits the pillow, in fact, he is plunged into darkness- into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

* * *

Laurence is awoken by nothing in particular, save for perhaps his instincts, the knowing that leaving the girls dormitories any later will result in him being spotted by his peers- he, of course, would prefer to avoid the gossip. A brief evening visit is one thing, but leaving the next morning is something else entirely.

Ludwig has somehow found himself out of his chair and spread out on the floor, head resting on a pillow of parchment and his own bunched hair. His mouth hangs open, a thin line of dried drool left run down his skin. Regardless of the throbbing pain in his skull, Laurence has to smile; the sight is more endearing than anything else. He takes great care to step over his snoring mass, hastily collects his robes, and manages to sneak out of the room without waking any of his newfound friends.

He finds the dormitory halls startlingly empty, in stark contrast to their bustling traffic during the day. His footsteps echo as he makes his way through the unfamiliar halls- though the floor plan is mostly similar to the boys’s dorms, the disquieting bareness makes it seem more of a maze than it had appeared the night before. Laurence follows the numbers and, after walking what seems an eternity, locates the entrance.

Through frosted glass he can see that the sun has not yet peeked over the horizon. Dark silhouettes of trees tremble in the wind. It nearly knocks him on his feet when he exits the building, and it’s _cold_ too, colder than he wishes to suffer through. At the last moment, he decides against crossing the sprawling courtyard, instead choosing to cut through the college’s rotunda.

Upon entering through the side door, he sees that only a few meters away from him stands a black-clad Pthumerian. Laurence has no time to turn back- its eyes are already upon him, though it thankfully stays in its place.

“I’m… just passing through,” Laurence quietly explains. The Pthumerian stares at him a moment longer, then makes a deep, barely audible noise- one of approval, Laurence imagines- and slowly turns his gaze away. Cautiously, he proceeds, the Pthumerian’s eyes never meeting his own again. He silently notes that below its feet is some sort of hatch, just large enough for a person or two to fit through.

Halfway across the room, Laurence begins to pick up on a muffled conversation. Inquisitive as he is, he stops in his tracks, strains his ears to make out the words.

“ _...condition is deteriorating, faster than we’d like to admit…”_

The voices are coming from above, Laurence realizes. He looks up, sees the flashes of crackling fire beyond the stairwell.

“ _That boy is going to die if we don’t do something, Willem._ ”

“ _And what would you suggest?_ ”

Laurence looks back at the Pthumerian, whose eyes remain fixed ahead. Gathering his courage, he takes a step up, and when he hears that there are no loud creaks, no shifting of wood to alert the speakers, he takes another. He crouches low, practically crawls up the stairs, and peers over the railing. Provost Willem, dressed in a mass of pale blue robes, sits by the fireplace, his hands folded neatly in his lap. Next to him, leaning against the mantle, stands a woman. By her uniform, Laurence recognizes her as a professor, but certainly not one from one of his classes.

He knows this is likely a bad idea, spying on his headmaster’s conversation, and somewhere in another hemisphere of his mind he is already calculating possible excuses for if and when he is caught snooping- He also knows, however, that curiosity is in his very nature, what attracted him to Byrgenwerth in the first place. To try and fight it would perhaps be just as foolish.

“If we could just give him, say, a vial, perhaps…”

“I see the adage is once again falling upon deaf ears.”

“But the Daughter just _sits_ there, all but _offers-_ ”

“ _We are born of the Blood. Made men by the Blood. Undone by the blood. Our eyes are yet to open..._ ”

“Provost Willem-”

“Fear the Old Blood.”

Laurence fails to realize just how much he’s been sweating, how clammy his palms have become- When he goes to grip the handrail, to pull himself up another step and get a better angle, his hand slips, his body along with it. He doesn’t think the crash to the ground could have been any louder, and though he can no longer see the professor and provost, it’s clear by the break in their discussion that they have both heard the fall.

He lies there for a moment, white-knuckle grasping the railing. A stair step digs painfully into his side. He knows there’s no use in trying to hide from the consequences, so slowly he rises, and as expected he sees the two of them looking directly at him. Only backlit by the fire, it is hard to read their expressions, to gauge how much trouble he’s in.

“That will be enough, Professor, thank you,” Willem says, his tone flat. The woman bows her head before turning away, walking right by Laurence and down the stairs without granting him a single word. “Your name is Laurence, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Yes, that’s… that is correct,” Laurence responds. His heart pounds so hard in his chest, he fears he’ll be struck dead before he can get another word out. Any alibi he had conceived has flown out the window. In his panic, he’s hardly certain there ever _were_ any excuses to begin with.

“And how long have you been listening?”

“Only a few minutes, Master Willem.”

“I see.” The headmaster turns back to the fireplace, and Laurence takes the opportunity to finally breathe. “And you chose to eavesdrop on my conversation because…?”

“I was curious.” It is the only answer Laurence can muster, and the honest one.

“Curiosity is a wonderful thing, of that there is no doubt,” Willem acknowledges. “But when considering curiosity, you must also remember the feline’s plight. You understand me, Laurence?”

Laurence swallows down hard, unable to think up a worthy response, and nods.

“Good.” Willem stands, balancing his weight against a silver-topped cane. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must return to my study. And I believe you have a class to prepare for. I’ll not have you missing any lectures on my account.” Laurence doesn’t register his words at first, and is unsure of what to do, staying firmly planted on the stairs. Willem repeats himself, more firmly this time: “That means you can _go,_ Laurence.”

He doesn’t need to be told a third time.

Now, when he stands outside, the icy drizzle hardly bothers him- his thoughts are too full to even recognize its presence until the tip of his nose grows numb. As if torn from a trance, Laurence blinks several times, takes in his surroundings. A puddle has accumulated at his feet. How long he’s been at the back of the building, alone, he does not know.

He removes his thick cape- too damp to make much of a difference against the pouring rain, now, anyhow- and as he folds it in his hands, he realizes it’s missing something crucial: his name. Shortly after receiving his uniform, he had made sure to clearly pen his signature on each tag. This one, though, remains blank. The robe he had placed over Ludwig must have been his own, and now he holds the hunter-in-training’s in his arms. He shivers. He will simply have to find time to return it later.

With the professor and Willem and the Pthumerian at his back, he feels more alone than ever- reaching deep inside his mind for comfort, he finds himself humming a familiar song, one his mother used to sing, and looks to the sky. If there is any guidance to be found there amidst the clouds, he does not find it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://gascoignes.tumblr.com
> 
> http://twitter.com/itsMadge_


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